


Sweet Talk

by withthepilot



Series: Talk to Me [3]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another day, another wager, but Kirk doesn't like the way this one pans out...at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 of the Talk to Me series.

"I'm telling you, Jim, I'm rusty. I haven't played since Ole Miss."

McCoy eyes the football between his hands, tossing it back and forth a bit with a wary expression on his face. Kirk just smiles and glances back to the other side of the gymnasium, where Sulu is attempting to patiently explain the logistics of American football to Chekov—who, until today, has never bothered to learn the game. Chekov mimes putting the ball on the ground and moving his feet, and Sulu groans and covers his face with both hands.

"It doesn't matter. You're my ace in the hole." Kirk grins at McCoy and pats his shoulder. "Just don't say anything about playing in college, okay? I don't want to give Sulu any reason to discount it when I finally beat his ass at something."

McCoy frowns disapprovingly. "I don't recall requesting to be a party to your macho sex games with Sulu, Jim. And don't talk about holes."

"Too late now." Kirk winks as he takes the ball from McCoy, scuttling backwards toward their makeshift field. "All right, come on, you two! If Chekov doesn't know how to play by now, he never will."

"I think I have it," Chekov says. He nods to Sulu who smiles back, but Kirk can tell that he's not terribly convinced of his best friend's ability. "You get the ball in the other team's goal. That is simple."

"Yeah, right? Simple," Kirk agrees, grinning.

Sulu rolls his eyes. "Two on two is stupid, you know. We should have more players to make it a real game."

"Everyone who's not on shift right now is either sleeping or doing something else, Sulu," Kirk says, tossing the ball between his hands. "We don't have a choice. Now, you know the rules: whoever gets to ten goals first wins. If I win, I get to fuck you in the botany lab. If you win, you get to fuck me over the bridge console."

At that, Chekov looks up with a horrified expression. "Hikaru! The _console_? We work there! _I_ work there!"

"For god's sake, Jim," McCoy adds, equally disgusted.

"I'll clean it up," Sulu replies coolly, lifting his chin. "Don't worry."

Kirk smirks and shrugs. "Yeah. And since we're gonna beat you anyway, it doesn't matter, Pavel. So don't you worry those pretty little curls of yours."

Chekov scowls at him, then, and mumbles something about vengeance before Sulu pulls him away, whispering to him. Kirk watches them for a moment, smiling to himself, and then turns back toward McCoy.

"Ready, Bones?"

McCoy exhales and takes the ball away from Kirk, then walks to the center of the gym. "You know, I'm glad you're in a monogamous relationship now, Jim; less work for me, and we save up on antidotes. But you don't have to wave it around in everyone's faces."

"Who said anything about a relationship? Now, waving things around in faces, that's another—"

"Right." He chucks the ball back to Kirk, who catches it with a laugh. "Keep it in your pants, flyboy."

It's an awkward start to the game, what with everyone not knowing exactly where they should be or what they're doing, but soon things get underway. Chekov catches the ball first and clutches it to his side, rushing across the field as fast as his skinny legs can carry him. McCoy can't do much but look on in amazement as Chekov zooms right past him to score the first goal.

"Jesus, Bones, what the hell was that?" Kirk yells, gesturing indignantly.

"What the hell did you want me to do, Jim? The kid's as fast as a goddamn comet! Didn't you know about that?"

"No," Kirk pouts. Now that he's thinking about it, he does recall seeing Chekov running around the gymnasium's track during rec breaks. And then there was that time when Chekov won the spring marathon back at the academy. Damn it to hell. Kirk looks on as Chekov exchanges a high-five with Sulu, then swallows heavily when Sulu catches his eye and lewdly licks his lips. He tries to focus on McCoy. "Just...fuck, just tackle him or something next time."

"Tackle him?" McCoy repeats, nostrils flared. He holds his thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart. "He's this big, Jim! I'd flatten him!"

"Well, don't just stand there next time, Bones, jeez!"

"Come on, you two," Sulu suddenly interjects. "Me and my curly-haired friend have a game to win. So, Jim, if you wouldn't mind...assuming the position?" He balances the football on the tip of his middle finger, grinning crookedly in that way that tears Kirk's insides to shreds and sends all the blood shooting straight to his cock. Kirk feels himself flush as McCoy leans in and whispers to him.

"Hate to say it, Jim, but I think you're getting fucked on that console tonight."

"Shut up and play," Kirk grunts.

After another crucial pep talk for McCoy, Kirk finally convinces him to put that Ole Miss experience to good use and then they're back in the game. Turns out McCoy is better at offense anyway, so Kirk draws up an appropriate strategy and before he knows it, they're tied with Sulu and Chekov, with one goal left to go. They're all getting tired, even the seemingly unstoppable lieutenant, whose throws have been getting progressively weaker as they go on. Kirk pulls McCoy over to his side and nods toward Sulu, who's breathing hard, sweaty hair falling into his eyes. He looks perfectly fucking edible, but Kirk tries to ignore that.

"He's getting tired," Kirk whispers. "Intercept his throw."

"If the Russian whiz kid doesn't beat me to it, you mean," McCoy whispers back.

In the end, though, it turns out to be easy—almost too easy. Sulu's throw to Chekov barely even takes off from the ground and McCoy's there in an instant, grabbing the ball and running off toward the other end of the field. Chekov valiantly tries to catch him but doesn't quite make it in time, pausing to wheeze as McCoy makes his touchdown.

Kirk laughs loudly and throws his hands in the air. He can't believe it; for once, he's fucking _won_.

"Holy shit!" Kirk exclaims. He runs over to McCoy for a victory embrace, then looks up with gleaming eyes when Sulu wanders over, a tired Chekov trailing behind him. He's got a wry smile on his face as he takes Kirk's hand in a shake.

"Okay, you won," he simply says. "See you in the lab tonight? Twenty-hundred hours?"

"You bet your sweet ass," Kirk drawls. He grins and reaches out to pat Chekov's arm reassuringly. "Good game, Checkers. Considering it was your first? Damn impressive."

"Thank you, Captain," he dutifully replies. He exchanges a quick glance with Sulu that Kirk can't really read. But then again, those two seem to have their own secret language sometimes. "I am relieved, I think, that my console is safe," he adds, and Kirk and Sulu laugh. McCoy just rolls his eyes again and walks away, muttering about unsanitary working conditions.

"I'm gonna hit the sonics," Kirk says, turning away as well. He looks back at Sulu. "Good game. See you tonight, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir," Sulu says, his smile a subtle promise.

Kirk happily makes his way to the gymnasium sonics, glad that he doesn't have to stink up the ship's corridors before he heads back to his quarters. He can't stop congratulating himself on his long-awaited victory, can't stop thinking about all the ways he's going to tease Sulu in the lab—make him squirm and moan and beg for more in front of all of his beloved plants, even the sentient ones. It feels as though he's been waiting for this day for eons. Kirk leans back against the tiles under the pulse and shuts his eyes, passing a hand between his legs with a light squeeze for relief. Not now, he thinks; it'll be even better if he waits for the big moment.

After he's done, he dresses in off-duty clothes and makes his way back into the gym, where Sulu and Chekov still seem to be hanging around, making the most of their recreation time. Kirk stops in his tracks, however, when he sees them running back and forth with the football. Chekov sprints with an energetic spring in his step, obviously not tired from their previous activities at all, and when Sulu throws him the ball, it sails through the air like a Klingon torpedo, practically leaving a blazing trail in its wake.

Kirk gapes and watches both of them play, faster and stronger than they seemed to be throughout the entire game, until anger and shame twists in his gut and he has to force himself to look away. He storms back to his quarters, where he orders the door locked, and sits and stews for hours, reading PADDs of paperwork up until twenty-hundred hours and long after that. He stubbornly ignores the chime at his door around twenty-one hundred hours, and exhales in relief when it finally stops, crawling into bed and dimming the lights.

In the morning, he heads to the bridge for alpha shift and bids his crew a good morning, including McCoy, who's there for his daily briefing. He keeps giving Kirk meaningful looks as he talks, as if to silently ask, _Was it everything you dreamed it would be?_ Kirk frowns and thrusts a PADD at McCoy's chest when he's done, blandly dismissing him. He doesn't miss the confused look of _What crawled up your ass and died?_ that his best friend gives him as he takes his leave.

Kirk settles into his chair and tries to focus, about to start giving out orders, when Sulu spins around and stands, addressing him.

"Captain Kirk. May I have a word with you in private?"

"Not now, Lieutenant," Kirk answers dryly. He glances away from Sulu's burning gaze, looking at Chekov. "Ensign Chekov, state our coordinates."

"Yes, sir. We are—"

"Captain," Sulu presses, taking a step toward Kirk's chair. Damn, it's hard to ignore Sulu when he's all severe and serious like that, jaw clenched and eyes dark; what's worse is that Sulu fucking knows it. "With all due respect, it's imperative that I speak to you now. In private. Sir."

And damn it, Kirk really wants to relent, but his pride just won't let him. He narrows his eyes and crosses his legs, pointing at Sulu's chair. "With all due _respect_ , Lieutenant, now is not the time. Now kindly sit back down and fly my ship before I have you sent to the brig for insubordination."

The whole bridge goes deadly quiet at Kirk's words, and even Chekov looks rattled, eyes going wide as he tries to pretend he's concentrating on his work. Sulu holds Kirk's gaze and says nothing for a few moments; then he murmurs, "Aye, sir," and sits back down, returning to his console. Kirk shifts in his seat and gives everyone gaping at them an annoyed look, a light flush creeping over the back of his neck.

"Mr. Chekov," he says, clearing his throat. "As you were saying?"

Sulu doesn't bother him again until after alpha shift and the dinner hour end, finding Kirk in his quarters. This time, Kirk allows him entrance, though he doesn't bother to acknowledge him when he walks in the door, just busies himself with the items on his desk.

"Well, thanks for letting me in," Sulu says to his turned back. "You know, the ship's computer tells me where you are. You can't really hide from me, Jim."

Kirk tries to push down the annoyance he feels bubbling inside him and remain aloof. "What's the problem, Mr. Sulu?"

"Don't call me that, Jim. We're not on the bridge now."

"Fine, Lieuten—"

" _Jim_." Sulu steps forward, gripping Kirk's shoulder to turn him around so they're facing each other. He's out of his uniform, in a plain black T-shirt and lounge pants, and Kirk's fingers itch to disrobe him. "Seriously. Why'd you stand me up last night? What did I do?"

Kirk feels his heart beat a little faster, his shoulders stiffening. It's really difficult to stay mad at Sulu; he's so earnest and unafraid of confrontation. "You fucking _threw the game_ , Hikaru. I saw you playing with Chekov after, okay? I know."

To Sulu's credit, he only pauses for a second, and then he doesn't try to deny it—just purses his lips and cocks his head, looking close to put out. "And now you're upset? Really? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Kirk snorts and turns back to his desk. "Don't try to sweet talk me, Hikaru."

"Jim," Sulu simply says. And in a moment, he's there, standing behind Kirk's chair and bending to speak quietly into his ear. "You're my captain. I wanted you to feel good." Kirk swallows and tries not to get distracted by the tickle of warm breath against his skin.

"Exactly. I'm your captain and you, of all people, should know that I don't appreciate it when people try to take pity on me. I don't need it and I don't want it."

"Of course you don't." Sulu kisses the nape of his neck and Kirk barely suppresses a shiver. "We're just messing around when we make these bets, aren't we? They're a fun excuse to have sex. You think I actually give a shit whether you fuck me in the lab or I fuck you on the console? Either way, I get to have sex with you, and you just happen to be _scorching hot_ , so either way, I win. Now, how is that taking pity?"

Kirk blinks, not knowing what to say to that. "You think I'm scorching hot?" he finally manages. Sulu laughs and grips the arms of Kirk's chair, bending low.

"I think that was implied the other night when I offered to eat my cum out of your stretched-out asshole."

And just like that, it's a red alert in Kirk's pants. He takes a shaky breath and reaches for Sulu's wrist to pull him down into his lap, but Sulu stops him with a hand on his chest.

"Come on," he murmurs, drawing Kirk upright. "You won, okay? And the botany lab is just sitting there, all cold and lonely."

"Nngh," Kirk says, letting Sulu tug him along.

As soon as they get into the botany lab and secure the door, they're on each other like spider monkeys, hands grappling with inconvenient clothing and lips battling in messy kisses. Kirk pushes Sulu against the wall and sucks at his mouth hungrily, rolling his hips and groaning when Sulu reaches under his shirt to rub his back, thrusting up but letting Kirk keep the lead. The air around them is warm and humid, thanks to preset temperatures throughout the lab, and Kirk shudders as droplets of sweat slide down his back, meeting with Sulu's fingertips.

"Over—over here," Sulu gasps, breaking their kiss. He takes Kirk's hand and leads him toward a work station that's been cleared of plants, presumably the night before. Kirk feels a little pang of guilt, picturing Sulu waiting around for him in here, wondering where he was. Possibly shirtless. He backs Sulu against the edge of the counter and licks a stripe up his neck.

"Change of plans," he murmurs. "You fuck me. Okay?"

"I thought you—"

"Like you said, it doesn't matter, right?" Kirk lifts his head to lick at Sulu's earlobe, reaching down past the elastic waistband of his pants and groping him shamelessly. "And I want this inside me, right fucking now."

Sulu gasps, unable to keep from bucking into Kirk's palm. "That an order...?"

"Fuck yeah."

The speed with which Sulu undresses him is kind of unbelievable. It seems like mere seconds before Kirk's pressed flat on his bare stomach over the work station's deactivated console, Sulu pushing his trousers down his legs and leaving them bunched around his ankles. He grips the surface with both hands and tries to part his legs as wide as he can, jerking when Sulu runs cool, slick fingers over his exposed hole. Kirk imagines Sulu brought lube with him last night and left it here, knowing he'd get the captain in the lab eventually.

"Doesn't really feel like losing, does it?" Sulu asks. "And this is me _not_ taking pity on you, by the way." He pushes his fingers inside Kirk, one at a time, then twists them in the way that renders him boneless. Kirk's hips jump and his cock grazes against the underside of the console, likely leaving a wet trail behind.

"I've got...my fucking...pride...asshole," Kirk pants, dropping his head forward.

"Yeah, well. If not for your pride, we could've done this last night." Sulu adds a third finger, curling and thrusting them until Kirk keens, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive skin right above Kirk's entrance. "So tell me you want it."

"I want it, I want _you_ , Hikaru! Fuck me already, damn it!"

Sulu pulls his fingers back carefully and nips at Kirk's shoulder. "Romantic as ever," he murmurs. He holds Kirk's hips steady and buries himself to the hilt in one swift movement that nearly has Kirk choking on his own saliva. Sulu grunts and reaches down, running his still-slick fingers back and forth over Kirk's exposed perineum until the captain is twitching and gasping.

" _Move_ ," he pleads. He presses his forehead against the cool surface of the console and whines. "Hikaru..."

"Yeah," Sulu whispers. He pulls back and starts to fuck Kirk properly in a swift, no-nonsense rhythm that already has him tensing in anticipation. Kirk pushes back against Sulu's cock as best as he can, shuddering when his nipples catch against the dormant controls of the work station. His body feels hyper-aware of everything, sensitive to every texture and sensation, each gust of breath that falls from Sulu's open mouth and the sweet, cloying smell of intergalactic flora all around them. Kirk sucks in a deep breath and swears that whatever's in the air switches his brainwaves off completely.

"Fuck, _fuck_ ," he groans, then starts babbling words that don't belong to any recognizable language. Sulu's cock hits the magic spot deep inside him over and over again and he's practically trying to hump the edge of the console for relief when he feels Sulu's hand around his length suddenly, jerking him. Kirk lets out a faint croak at the feeling, his lashes fluttering. "Muh..."

"So fucking hot, Jim...come on, come for me," Sulu says.

"Shit," is all Kirk can muster in response. It's difficult to retain any sense of coherence when Sulu's hand is flexing like that and his thumb is circling and teasing his slit like _that_ and his cock is twitching inside him like... _fuck_. Kirk makes a strangled noise as his whole body tenses beneath Sulu, coming in heavy spurts over his hand and the underside of the work station. Sulu keeps fucking him through it, dripping sweat from his brow onto the sloping curve of Kirk's back, until he gives into his release and his warmth floods through Kirk, eliciting another faint groan.

They both lie there for a while, breathing hard. Kirk finds it difficult to lift his head, the scents of Sulu and foreign pollen pungent in his nostrils and tickling his throat.

"I feel all...floaty," he murmurs. "Might be having an allergic reaction." And that would really suck, because McCoy would never let him live it down.

"Nah, couldn't be," Sulu says. He kisses down the top of Kirk's spine before carefully pulling out, rubbing his hipbones. "I got a list from medical of all the plants you're allergic to and had them removed in advance."

"No shit? That's kinda sweet." Kirk hauls his fucked-out body upright, balancing on the edge of the counter. He leans forward and kisses Sulu deeply, smiling when Sulu laughs and grips Kirk's backside to hold him steady.

"Well, that's the thing about me. I'm a sweet kind of guy."

"I'm realizing that." Kirk nips his jaw playfully. "Truce?" he asks.

"Truce," Sulu agrees. His mouth quirks on one side. "Until tomorrow."


End file.
